Jeeves Under Cover
by Missy Mouse
Summary: The return of the Ganymede Club book, Aunt Agatha and the infamous Wodehouse fan. (moi) R&R!
1. Default Chapter

I own nothing, except the Georgehath family, Edward Binsley and Emily Cooper. Also anyone else I dream up. If these are names of characters in the novels, I was unaware at time of publishing, as I have not read all of them yet.(This is actually the eighth deadly sin, ;-) )  
  
Jeeves Under Cover  
Chapter One  
  
"I say Jeeves, it is a juicy morning!"  
  
"Decidedly, sir. Will you be needing anything else with your breakfast?"  
  
"Oh, no. I shouldn't think so. Why, what's up Jeeves?"  
  
Jeeves coughed politely.  
  
"I would like to take some time to recount your recent outings in my club book, sir."  
  
I jumped. Not an easy thing to do when one is sitting down, but nevertheless, I jumped. This caused my morning cup of tea to wobble precariously on my lap. Jeeves slipped to the rescue, by lifting it to safety.  
  
"I say, Jeeves! I thought you had those beastly pages about me in your dratted club book burnt?"  
  
"Indeed, sir, but I feel it is only right to supply some material."  
  
I spluttered with indignation at this. When your trusted retainer disposes of something, that is likely to blot ones career, you expect that that object will never rear it's ugly head again. I put this to the blighter.  
  
"Jeeves! When ones trusted retainer burns unnecessary documents, one does not agree with having that trusted retainer write some more of the aforementioned document, understood?"  
  
"Perfectly sir, but."  
  
"No 'buts', Jeeves."  
  
"Very good, sir. Please allow me to say however."  
  
"No Jeeves. I do not allow you to say."  
  
"As you wish, sir."  
  
Jeeves began to slide from the room, and I noticed he still had my morning beverage. I felt I needed it rather, so I called out. However, Jeeves didn't stop, so groaning like the dickens, I untangled myself from the sheets and set after him.  
  
I might at this point, put a word in about this 'Book'. Jeeves, you see, belongs to a club for Gentleman's Gentleman. The Junior Ganymede. It is the custom there that each member must fill in a few pages about their employer. Jeeves had done so about me, a subject about which I have always been skittish. I was right to be, as it was stolen. After much consternation, Jeeves recovered the novel, and 'removed' the pages about me, much to my joy. You see now why I was so concerned about it now.  
  
As I entered the sitting room, I heard an all to familiar voice. It seemed that while caught in my meditations, a visitor had entered, and was even now in the kitchen with Jeeves.  
  
I heard Jeeves try to restrain the guest from barging into my room, but even Jeeves, in all his greatness, cannot be expected to restrain this guest very long. For the guest, or rather, the un-wanted guest, was non- other than my Aunt Agatha. 


	2. Aunt Agatha Appears

As usual I own nothing but the characters you don't recognise. Unless you have never read Jeeves and Wooster, then you won't know any of them. Oh, well, on with the story.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
I heard Aunt Agatha's loud voice in the kitchen, and then the door popped open. The relative was all set to barge into my chambers, but she didn't have to barge that far.  
  
"Bertram Wilberforce Wooster! What on earth."  
  
I stood like a deer, caught in the headlights, quivering. The aunt's gaze hit me in the eyeball, and I felt my being slowly turning to ice.  
  
"Bertram, get some clothes on! I refuse to talk to you in your nightwear!"  
  
And with that, she bustled past me, and went and sat down. Turning back to the kitchen, I perceived Jeeves, beginning to float toward my Aunt. I stopped him dead with a raised eyebrow. I motioned for him to follow me, and I stalked into my bedroom.  
  
"Jeeves, why did you not detain the woman?"  
  
"With all due respect, sir, I found it extremely difficult to detain Mrs Spencer Gregson."  
  
I nodded, somewhat sympathetically. I understood, of course. My Aunt is particularly hard to detain.  
  
"Bertram! Go and get dressed, this instant!"  
  
With that, I pulled on the old garments, and tottered out again. Jeeves was offering the relation a glass of something, when she spotted me.  
  
"There you are! Now, Bertie, I have been thinking about your marital status. It is imperative you should marry. And soon."  
  
I saw the black hole looming up before me. I saw also my Aunt, grasping me like a helpless child, and yanking me into the abyss. I have pretty much always been against a sane man, forfeiting all the joys in life for a partner. I would also like to consider myself, a sane man.  
  
"No! Look here, dear Aunt. I won't marry!"  
  
The relative's face and eyes hit me forcibly. I was knocked, quite literally, backward.  
  
"Bertram! I have already selected a perfect wife for you."  
  
The black abyss widened, like the mouth of a tiger, about to begin its meal. I groaned.  
  
"Who is it?"  
  
"Duke Georgehath's daughter, Olivia. You have been invited round for the afternoon, tomorrow."  
  
And with these final words, she swooshed out.  
  
I turned to Jeeves. However, right at that moment the doorbell pinged, and he shimmered off. I sank into the armchair, shivering. The Aunt was on the warpath, armed with hatchet. Needless to say she had already began her battle plan. Bertram looked to be well and truly in the soup, unless action was swiftly taken.  
  
Jeeves glided in again.  
  
"Mr Little, sir."  
  
I jumped for joy. As I believe I've said before, it is hard to jump in a sitting position, but somehow, I performed the feat once more.  
  
"Bingo!"  
  
The man toddled in. He was his usual, jovial self. I was glad about this, you see if he isn't, then it invariably means he's come round to pester me, to be part of some dreadful scheme. The experience of trying to hijack his wife's report on her life with him, before it got into my Aunt Dahlia's paper, was all to clear in the mind.  
  
"Hello Bertie! I've just popped round to ask if you'd come to a theatrical performance. It's tonight, I have two tickets, but Rosie can't come as she needs to finish her latest novel."  
  
"Oh, really? Well I'd be delighted Bingo, old egg. I have something that needs discussing with you."  
  
"Super. I'll pick you up at nine, then. Toodle pip!"  
  
He popped out again, and I suddenly felt very weak. I couldn't account for it at first, but then I got it. Jeeves had sauntered off with my tea, after I had nearly spilt it. Just then, the man himself appeared at my elbow.  
  
"Shall I make you a cup of tea, sir? I noted that you have not yet had your morning drink."  
  
"No Jeeves. I need something stronger. You couldn't brew one of your pick- me-ups, by any chance?"  
  
"Certainly, sir." 


	3. At the Gates of Hell

I own nothing, save those people of my own invention. R&R!  
  
I forget the name of the theatre that Bingo and I rolled up at. It had lots of gold leaf, and mirrors. Rather jolly. The show was some weird drama, which was apparently about two star-crossed lovers, torn apart by the girl's obstinate father, or something. It was all pretty mundane, until the interval. At this point, I began telling Bingo my troubles. The ass laughed a carefree laugh, and told me I should be grateful. He pointed out, that, he had had a dickens of a time trying to get a wife, and that I should think myself lucky, if all these girls kept throwing themselves at me.  
  
I was somewhat perturbed. I asked who 'all these girls' were, and he started listing all the females I have ever been engaged too, most disturbing and uncomfortable.  
  
At this point, the blighter wondered off to fetch some refreshment. He shot back like my Aunt Agatha when her nephew has disobeyed her command, and she slithers round to dish out punishment.  
  
"Bertie, old man! Guess who I've just seen?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Well, I heard some girls near the front, talking. One of them was called Olivia Georgehath. Isn't she the one you're going to be engaged to?"  
  
"Yes, by jove! Where is she now?"  
  
Bingo began to giggle pretty freely. He pointed toward two women at the front, bustling back to their seats, single file. The one at the back was medium height, very slender, with blonde hair, a small nose and rosebud lips. Rather a sweet looking girl, I thought. The one in front was an enormous girl, with a great girth, a red face, piggy eyes and a double chin. I didn't like the look of her much.  
  
"I say, Bingo, which is Olivia?"  
  
"The large one."  
  
"Oh my Aunt. . . ."  
  
The next day, about one-ish, I set off for the Georgehath's living quarters. It was one of those red brick town houses, you know, with big windows.  
  
I gave the door a sound beating, and it opened, revealing an extremely tall butler, with an especially large hooter. He peered at me a bit, and then spoke thus:  
  
"Mr Wooster?"  
  
"Oh, ah, yes that's me!"  
  
He spoke with an irritating, nasal drawl. Not nice, when you confront him at the door of hell, knowing that far worse horrors than the local butler await you within, horrors like an obese female, who the devil herself has advocated for you to marry.  
  
The nasal chappy lead me into a long dark hall, with lots of wooden panels. He hobbled off, grunting. After quite a long while, that was spent goggling at the family photos on the wall, a very slim girl bobbed up. I recognised her as the one at the theatre. You must believe me when I tell you that she looked prettier close up than from afar.  
  
I also observed that she was wearing the tawdry rags of some sort of maid. I was shocked. But, surely, most housemaids didn't attend theatres, with the daughter of the house.  
  
"What ho!"  
  
"Oh, afternoon, sir. May I ask if you're Mr Wooster?"  
  
"Oh yes, certainly. I am Mr Wooster."  
  
"The lady, Miss Olivia, wishes to see you, sir."  
  
"Yes, I was hoping someone would come and show me too her."  
  
This was a lie, of course. The last thing I would ever hope would be to be shown to Olivia Georgehath.  
  
"Oh, follow me, sir."  
  
She lead me up lots of spiralled stairs, through many hallways, and eventually to some big, double wooden doors. "In here, sir." The maid said.  
  
I gulped, and ran a finger round the inside of my collar. 


	4. Olivia Revealed

Nope, I still own nothing, 'cept my own Characters. 'Plum' owns all the others.  
  
Chapter Four  
  
If the doors in front of me were the standard size of doors in this blasted household, then I could only assume that all the Georgehaths were on the porky side. They looked as if they'd been made to measure. Indeed, when the maid opened them, and I perceived Miss Olivia Georgehath, reclining like a whale on the settee, I could see that, doorframes tight at the hips, were fashionable in the Georgehath house.  
  
I took a brave step in, and the doors banged shut behind me, like those crypt doors you read about.  
  
Then, just as I was fighting a losing battle to calm my nerves, a sound like an engine whistle rent the air.  
  
"Coo!! Are you Bertie Woo-ooster?"  
  
I didn't like the way she said my name. She had a motherly aspect about her, worried, caring, all that rot. I wasn't taken.  
  
"Oh, ah. Yes. What ho!"  
  
This simple greeting had a strange affect on the girl. She did a sort of rolling leap off the settee, and, by some means of propulsion unknown to me, she came in my direction.  
  
"Oh, Bertie! You are wonderful, just like I imagined you!"  
  
The aforementioned 'black abyss', opened yet wider. The loathsome female moved still closer.  
  
"Oh, Bertie! I am sorry, but I must go and telegraph Mrs Spencer Gregson."  
  
I finally found my voice, and attempted to use it.  
  
"W-Why?"  
  
"To confirm our engagement of course!" The next event makes me shiver, as it must surely be the worst moment in my career. As she swooshed past me, the girl Olivia grabbed me in a pair of arms like iron rods, and proceeded to slobber lightly on my cheek. Then she was gone, and I tried in vein to locate a source of recuperative, namely whiskey and soda. And, in my personal view, the more whiskey there was, the better. 


	5. Passion on Paper

Still own nothing save characters of my own invention.  
  
Chapter Five  
  
After Olivia had buzzed off, the maid came in. She looked at me in a sort of anxious way, as if I was a dozing lion that might wake up at any moment and drag her off into the undergrowth. As I opened my mouth to start a cheery request for some thing strong and alcoholic, she dived at me, and pressed a crumpled piece of paper into my fingers. Then, she zoomed out like a rocketing pheasant.  
  
I began to un-crumple the communication, with a worried look on the old lemon. Giving it a final tug, the flimsy p. tore, and a scrap drifted beneath the settee. I ignored it, and read the rummy thing;  
  
"Dear Mr Wooster,  
I have been observing you from afar, or with intelligence passed on to me by un-suspecting sources. Bertie, my heart longs to be yours! I am convinced that you are the only man in the world for me. Please meet me by the . . ."  
  
And then there was no more, the rest of the letter being concealed under a floral mess of cushions and sofa. There were only two other words written on the bally thing: "yours Emily".  
  
I shoved the bally t. in my pocket, and began to scrabble about under the settee. Just as I felt the scrap in my sweating palm, blasted Olivia came in. I mean to say, what!  
  
With one movement, she scooped me up, and kicked the torn remains of my first love letter away un-knowingly.  
  
"Oh, Bertie! I'm so happy! I just know we'll be happy forever!"  
  
I don't know whether it was the disturbing description by note of molten passion, the thought of spending forever with the Georgehath menace, or simply the lack of substantial beverages to take the above in with, but I had a sudden desire for air. I excused myself, and legged it. 


	6. Misplaced Post

Usual disclaimer; I own only my own characters.  
  
Chapter Six  
  
As I gasped for the good old air, I pondered my letter, and worried about the bit that was making for a prolonged stay under Olivia's sofa. Emily who? And where was I supposed to meet this girl? All very rummy.  
  
I decided it was best that I scarper for the flat, and get Jeeves to tell everyone I wasn't receiving, or better yet, that I was elsewhere.  
  
I hailed a passing cab, and started for home sweet home.  
  
When I got in, Jeeves guessed straight away what I required. He disappeared and reappeared again in thirty seconds, in the wake of a good whiskey and s.  
  
"I say, Jeeves!"  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Did you put any soda in this?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Well next time I return from that blasted house, you can conveniently forget it."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
And he drifted out. I sipped the beverage, and relaxed back in the chair. A sudden thought came to me.  
  
"Jeeves!"  
  
He flowed silently in.  
  
"What happened about those things you were writing about me?"  
  
"Sir?" "You know, for your club book?"  
  
"Oh, 'those', sir."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Don't just stand there, saying 'sir'! What of them? You seem furtive."  
  
"I must confess sir, that I seem to have misplaced them."  
  
Yet again, I leapt from a sitting position. It was becoming a habit.  
  
"Lost them, you mean?"  
  
"It would seem so, sir."  
  
"No other possibility?"  
  
"Well, yes sir, there is. I did not like to mention it, as it was taking a liberty, but I had my niece round for a short talk, sir."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yes, sir. I fancy that she might have taken the papers in question; along with the ones I gave her. They were letters for post, sir, to my cousins."  
  
"But dash it, why would she take them?"  
  
"By mistake, I believe, sir."  
  
I sighed deeply. This wasn't what one would call good. Although we had located the offending items, I didn't like the idea of Jeeves' niece reading about all the daft, silly things I had done in my career. 


	7. One Less Engagement

Usual disclaimer. WARNING: from now on the entire story will be fluff, fluff, and lovely fluff. Hah.  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
I didn't sleep well that night. Apart from the fact that the birds were howling outside my window, I kept thinking about the note. I hadn't shown it to Jeeves. I didn't know why, I just felt that I shouldn't, some how. I kept reading it, over and over, but as much as I strained the old bean, I couldn't think of a girl I knew called Emily.  
  
In the end, it all got so much that I hopped out of bed at the ghastly hour of eight. I couldn't sleep; some other force was keeping me going. Jeeves seemed positively rattled; he knows how I like my eight hours of the dreamless.  
  
After a hearty breakfast, I resolved to do a bit of wandering about the metrop. as it seemed the only thing to do. And with that, I set forth into the world.  
  
When I returned, there was a telegraph on the table. I picked it up with the uncertainty due to telegrams: for me they always herald bad news. It read:  
  
'To Bertram,  
You are an imbecile! Olivia's Father has demanded your engagement broken off, due to him finding evidence of some eccentricity on your part. I am furious! I do wish you would order you behaviour in a more sensible manner.  
  
Mrs A. Spencer Gregson'  
  
I nearly choked. What eccentricity was this? I had never felt less eccentric in my life while in that beastly house. Something was afoot, so I showed the thing to Jeeves. I had expected him to have some part in the matter, but no, Jeeves was baffled.  
  
But as I slipped beneath the covers that night, I watched him like a hawk as he left, and observed a pondering look on his lemon, indicating he knew more than he let on. But what was there to know?  
  
I do not wish to deceive my public; I was very pleased with it all. I was no longer affianced to Olivia Georgehath, a great improvement. But, there was more behind it all than a chump like self could uncover. What it needed, I felt, was a man who could out think the greatest thinkers, a man who could solve any problem with seamless finesse, a man whose head stuck out at the back, in short, Jeeves. 


	8. Papers at Large

Usual disclaimer.  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
Next morning, I sprang from my bed, with a zest that nearly caused Jeeves to raise his left eyebrow a good eighth of an inch. Sloshing the morning tea down the hatch, I dressed quickly, and left the flat even quicker. I had to move fast to preserve my newfound courage. I was on my way to my Aunt Agatha's, and, as Jeeves says; if t'were done well it were best t'were done quickly.  
  
By the time I reached her lair, my brave front had sagged somewhat. Still, I steadied myself, and tapped on the door. An ancient butler looked down at me, like I was the lowest dreg of society, and then stepped well out of my way when I entered, as if he was frightened he might catch something.  
  
The 'Werewolf' was hiding in some floral room with large leather sofas. She eyed me with visible distaste, before grudgingly allowing me to sit.  
  
"What are you doing here? I've quite had enough of you"  
  
I ran the finger round the collar a bit, before speaking thus;  
  
"I came to see what all this business was about my eccentricity."  
  
"Oh, that." She brooded. "Apparently, Olivia's father discovered papers describing some recent events that made him order the cancellation of the engagement. I myself know not what they were, but they were written with a mysterious heading at the top, on the first page."  
  
I goggled.  
  
"What was the heading?"  
  
" 'The Junior Ganymede Club Book: The Records of Mr B.W Wooster.'"  
  
In a matter of minutes, I had left the house, and was marching back home. I was seething like the dickens, and quivering like one of those things that quiver, an aspen, I think.  
  
I threw wide the door and surprised Jeeves who for reasons of his own was in the hall at that moment. The man's mouth actually flickered a bit, showing his surprise.  
  
Well, in a few minutes I had revealed the facts, and Jeeves just stood there, like he had recently visited a taxidermist, and occasionally said;  
  
"Most disturbing, Sir."  
  
"But Jeeves! Those bally pages about me in your book have yet again broken loose. The secretary in charge must spend all day dozing if persons can acquire that damn book so easily."  
  
"I perfectly understand your consternation, Sir. But if I may say so, it has been advantageous to you. You are now no longer engaged to Miss Georgehath, Sir."  
  
I nodded, glumly. A thought struck me. A rare occurrence, as my followers know, but it struck.  
  
"Jeeves, did you copy the pages from the club book, and plant them in that house?"  
  
"That is the strange thing, Sir. It was not I. Also, the pages that have come to the Georgehath's notice were not yet in the club book. They were the pages I was working on but a few days ago."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"The Georgehath's butler met me recently, and told me he had seen them, Sir. He too is a member of my club. He described their contents too me, and I knew that those pages were not yet in the book."  
  
I goggled for the second time that day. If it was not Jeeves, then some mystical or possibly heavenly force was at work. But then, amazingly, another of those intellectual thoughts struck.  
  
"The ones you lost, you mean?"  
  
"Yes, Sir,"  
  
"The ones your niece accidentally took?"  
  
"Yes, Sir. I may also mention that my niece, Miss Emily Cooper, works at the Georgehaths house, as a Parlour maid."  
  
I staggered back. I had met that self same parlour maid. Indeed she had been the one who had given me that passion filled note. And this girls name was Emily. 


	9. Love is the Air

Usual disclaimer. Getting somewhat soppy. I just wondered what would actually happen if the things below happened in the books. Uh oh.  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
That night, after Jeeves had popped off to sleep, I turned on the light, and lifted my love letter from my bedside table's locked draw. I gazed at it, longingly. I couldn't believe that this girl knew who I was. And if she did, why on earth she seemed to hold this undying love in her bosom.  
  
I have been used, by at least two of my female pals, as a threat to their uncles. In short, when they wished to marry a bloke who their guardian was sure to disapprove of, they dragged me in, and threatened to marry me if the uncle, father or carer did not allow them to marry the man of their dreams. I am sad to say this usually worked.  
  
These proceedings upset me. Being told in this round-a-bout way that I was no woman's choice for a husband, and if chosen at all only for money, or in most cases a challenge to improve my intellect. It lowers a fellow's moral.  
  
But the arrival of this letter gave me new hope. The only trouble was I knew not where, or when to meet Miss Emily Cooper. Dashed difficult. I also decided not to reveal my letter to Jeeves. I am not that idiotic, as to show a declaration of love from her to me, to the girl's uncle. Uncles are known to chafe a bit. And by golly, knowing what Jeeves thinks of me, he was going to cut up as rough as Ooffy Prosser of the Drones, when he gets touched for money.  
  
I gazed, possibly with the love light in my eyes, at the paper. I so wanted to get at that other half of it.  
  
A most welcome surprise awaited me at breakfast. A small envelope, containing a scrap of paper. 'The' scrap of paper. Emily must have found it and sent it on. I closeted myself in my room, and read:  
  
". . .the column of Nelson in Trafalgar square, on Tuesday 6th, 10:00"  
  
Today. I dug up the other piece, and legged it for the open spaces. I arrived somewhat late, but quickly spotted the female I was after. Short blonde hair, with slim figure.  
  
I wandered over, and 'hullo-d' a bit. The girl looked at me with perpetually wide eyes, giving her a deer like appearance. She seemed to a trifle shy, a sentiment I sympathised with. I knew how she felt.  
  
It is a strange feature of such matters, that when I am trying to soften up a girl for a friends impending proposals, the sweet nectar runs from my lips like water from a tap, usually landing me in the soup, engaged to the bally female with the friend's curses in my ears. But now I was trying to win the heart of the angel before me, the honeyed words vanished, and I felt so devoid of debonair-ness and manly spirit, it was as though I had been filleted.  
  
The girl eyed me in a frightened manner, and began speech.  
  
"I-I am so sorry. I really shouldn't have called you here."  
  
"Sir." She added, un-certainly.  
  
I waved a weak hand vaguely, and endeavoured to find my voice. It proved tricky, but I managed it.  
  
"Oh, not at all. I expect it was for some secret plan for your Uncle Jeeves, my valet. I was guessing that you made all the stuff up about love and hearts up, to get my attention, what?"  
  
It was all I could say. I hadn't wanted to say it, mind you. I had wanted to invite her for a spin in my car about the country, or a quiet picnic in some pleasant spot. Instead I had rather chucked the idea out of her head that I might at all return any feelings described in her letter. Not a good start, I felt.  
  
The effect it had on her was immediate. She gulped, she gasped. The signs of a woman's impending grief came to the fore. Emily turned, and began to walk, sobbingly away.  
  
My next move was, thankfully, not due in any part to the quickness of my brain. It was due; I like to think, to the swift reactions of my heart. In a trice I was darting across the square at a fair rate of knots. Leaping into her path, I hastily tried to put in some of the old Wooster charm.  
  
"Oh, I say, I didn't mean all that rot. Merely grabbing for words, don't you know?"  
  
The girl looked sadly up at me. The tears began to disappear, the girlish hope came into the eyes like the sun rising.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Of course. Just a merry jest."  
  
Emily smiled prettily.  
  
"I suppose you're wondering how I know anything about you."  
  
"Well, yes, rather."  
  
Then, with sudden presence of mind, I said:  
  
"How about you tell me as we go for a drive in my car?"  
  
She said Yes, and then I said What Ho Then, and off we popped. Jumping into the car, we were soon off down some picturesque lane, biffing along at a comfortable speed.  
  
Emily started off.  
  
"You see, I want to be an actress. I have been working as various sorts of maids in various houses for ages. So one day I decided to hand in my notice, and shoot off for fame and fortune. One of my cousins did very much the same thing. To achieve the fame and fortune bit, I decided to start off in London, in some theatre or other. But I needed cash, so I got a job as a house maid in the employ of a Mrs Travers."  
  
I gargled.  
  
"My Aunt!" I cried in surprise.  
  
"Exactly. That was when I first saw you. You must understand that my father wants me to chuck the whole acting thing, and marry some other domestic staff man, and live happily cleaning houses. That was all fine with me until I realised that in the three houses I was at I couldn't find anyone I liked. So, as I say, I had just arrived in London, been employed by your aunt, and then I saw you."  
  
She sighed, dreamily. I couldn't believe that the mere sight of me ambling across a lawn or something could have inspired this girl's affections. It made me wonder whether she was the 'Madeline Bassett' sort of female. The Bassett disease was a girl who firmly believed that the stars were God's daisy chain. I really hadn't seen myself being the sort of man to hook up with a girl like her. If this girl was of similar make, I couldn't see myself traipsing up the aisle with Emily Cooper either.  
  
"Oh, I knew from the moment I saw you that you were the one for me. You looked so, so. . ."  
  
"Handsome?" I queried, as she struggled for words.  
  
"No. More like, kind, or gentlemanly. The sort of chap I was after."  
  
This remark didn't fill me with happiness. It is somewhat of a blow to discover that the girl of your dreams, although she finds you kind looking, doesn't think much of you on the handsome side. However, I kept my peace, and Emily sallied forth with the rest of her story.  
  
"But, even though I had found you, the difficulty was telling you how I felt. You left the next day, and shortly after, I moved away to the Georgehath house. It pained me so much to hear that you were engaged to Olivia. And when I saw your face as you went in, I knew you weren't keen, so I penned the note, and gave it to you. All hopelessly silly and romantic I know, still there it is."  
  
I nodded. There it was all right. It still astounded me that she could've liked me so much without even talking to me. I found the thing incredible. But, as one of those poet people say: love works in mysterious ways.  
  
Something was still hanging about and troubling me though. I remembered seeing Emily at that theatre Bingo and me went to. I put this to her.  
  
"Oh, that!" she cried airily. "That was because Olivia had no one else to go with. It may seem strange, but I had to tag along with her to all sorts of places. I would pretend to be a friend of hers. That was when I got my big break."  
  
She beamed at me. This was obviously something big.  
  
"A talent scout heard me singing at one of the dances. I've been signed for a very minor role in some romantic play. I can't wait to leave the Georgehaths."  
  
We drove on sometime, talking of this and the other, when we decided to return homeward. We arranged to meet same time, and same place next week, as that was when Emily had her day off. I dropped the heavenly vision off outside the 'House of Hell', and carried on to the flat. I skipped in like the high hills, cheerily requested a w. and s. and then settled down on the sofa, feeling full of human kindness. 


	10. Mixed Messages

Usual disclaimer. Well, do you like? If you do, REVIEW!! If you don't. . .well, you can review anyway.  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
For the next week I went about in a daze. My fellow Drones Club members commented on it. Bingo Little for one would not stop pestering me until I told him why. Indeed, it turned out my friends had been betting on the outcome. Only one of them, Barmy Fothergill-Phipps, a worse chump than myself, had guessed on love. And he only as a joke. I believe he won a substantial amount out of it, which I felt would do him good.  
  
Unfortunately, a small blip appeared, in the proceedings. While it was common knowledge in the Club that Bertie Wooster had at last teamed up with someone, the rest of London was un-aware.  
  
It remained so until, after writing a short scribble to my beloved, I confused it with a chatty letter to my Aunt Dahlia. I had not mentioned anything to her in the letter I'd written, so it was a bit of a shock to receive the following phone call.  
  
"Bertie? Are you sober?"  
  
"Why yes, dearest Aunt."  
  
"Then what is this nonsense I hear about you being engaged? You're only ever engaged against your will. I should know, it's often been my fault."  
  
I made a strangled noise, my eyes rolled somewhat, and then I managed:  
  
"What? How the dickens do you know?"  
  
My aunt seemed shocked as well. I heard a cry, and then;  
  
"Bertie! You can't be! This will mean you will very shortly be elevated out of the blue room, when you come to stay."  
  
The blue room is the ghastly hole my aunt keeps for visiting bachelors. I have oft enjoyed it's hospitality. This was however beside the point.  
  
"But aged relative, how do you know? I never told you!"  
  
My aunt made a noise like a displeased rhinoceros, which threatened to send me deaf in one ear. I held the receiver at arms length. When I felt it was safe, I returned the bally thing to my ear.  
  
"Bertie? Are you still there?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me, nephew? It's big news."  
  
I struggled with the thing. Why indeed had I not told her?  
  
"Um, because I've only known the girl a few days. And besides, we're not engaged, merely friends."  
  
My aunt snorted again.  
  
"Bertie, darling, I may be getting on in years but I still recognise a love letter when I see one. I am, at this very minute, holding in my hand a letter from you to a Miss Emily Cooper. However, the envelope was addressed to me. You've mixed the letters, you silly ass."  
  
I felt the colour of the setting sun in Africa begin to rise up my face. The embarrassed silence that followed was rather uncomfortable. Then my aunt began to chuckle lightly, and spoke thus;  
  
"Oh well. I suppose the sporting thing to do would be to send this back to you. Shall I mention this to anyone?"  
  
The yell I gave startled my blood relation so that she dropped the telephone. She managed to recover it, however, and carried on.  
  
"No? Oh well. But hang on . . . if I don't tell anyone, you must do a little something for aunty."  
  
"This is blackmail!"  
  
"Yes it is isn't it? But I shan't worry, I know you're used to it. I want you to convince Tuppy to marry Angela."  
  
"What? Has there been a lovers tiff?"  
  
"No, but I would like the dashed fellow to get along. There will be a lovers tiff if he doesn't soon. Angela is fair fed up. Toodle pip!"  
  
I put back the phone, weakly. I didn't like the idea of my letter to Emily biffing about at random. It worried me. My aunt Agatha might get her claws on it, and then all hell would break loose. It might not go down well that I was in love with a parlour maid, soon to be actress. My Aunt A. liked neither vocation.  
  
But soon, all thoughts of such unpleasant circs. had quite left my head. Weeks and days of dearest Emily's company drifted by, until it was the day I took Emily out to lunch at the Savoy. It was one of those candle lit dinner jobs. All very romantic and heart-string-tugging. As we sat making general conversation, it struck me how pretty she looked in the candlelight.  
  
I have spoken before of sudden impulses. You get them at the theatre, when the aforementioned impulse starts egging you on to shout fire. Or when you're talking to someone, and the impulse tells you to biff him in the eye.  
  
And so, the sudden impulse came upon me to sweep the girl out of her chair, shower her upturned face in burning kisses, and ask her to marry me.  
  
However, it did occur to me that proposing in the middle of a crowded restaurant wasn't really suitable, so by some diversion, we left the place and ended up in a picturesque spot by the river.  
  
Emily insisted on wandering up the bridge, which we did, and then we proceeded to race twigs under the bridge.  
  
There was no one else present. We were alone on the bridge, with the gurgling and sloshing below us, and the merry twittering of wildlife above.  
  
So, without further ado, I swept, kissed, and asked.  
  
Haha!!! Cliff-hanger! *grinz evilly* I did warn you, but you obviously didn't listen. But beware, worse is to come. 


	11. Meet the Father in Law

Well, hello. I am somewhat worried about one of my reviewers. In their review, they said:  
  
"I love Woosterkins"  
  
I am a little worried by this. I mention no names. *Coughs name in background*  
  
Anyway, you know the drill, I own nada, otherwise I'd be rich, and not writing fanfic. Like, duh?  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
It was a tense moment. And then, my guardian angel suddenly popped out of a trap, and started to work like an editor of a small periodical, named "Wee Tots" that has just been told their pays been doubled.  
  
In respective order, Emily gasped, giggled and Yes Of Course I Will-d.  
  
This gave me a shock. A nice shock, I mean. We had been getting on rather well. I have squads of female pals, who I get on very well with, but not one could stand the thought of being married to me. A nice surprise really, you might call this.  
  
Anyhow, we stayed on the bridge for a while, self-feeling happy with dreams coming true, and beautiful Emily giggling with girlish merriment.  
  
It was then I remembered the mixed up letters. I asked my fiancé if she had received a chatty note, intended for somebody's aunt. She replied that she had received no letters. Then I did all the explaining about mixing them up.  
  
"Oh, Bertie, you are a chump! Oh, I suppose it can't be helped. What did your aunt say?"  
  
"She seemed happy."  
  
"Oh, good." She checked her wristwatch. "Heavens! The time! You'd best walk me back to my house. You can meet my father."  
  
We pondered along, until we reached the house. Emily opened the door, but there was no Mr Cooper. So, we kissed a fond goodbye, and I toddled off to the flat, a song on my lips and joy in my heart, and all that rot.  
  
You may have heard me before use the term '. . . hit behind the ear with a blackjack.' I usually employ it to show unwanted or bad news. My aunt Agatha, for instance, hit me behind the ear with a blackjack, when telling me I was engaged to Olivia Georgehath.  
  
But, as I entered the flat, feeling full of pep and ginger, I mean to use the term in another way.  
  
I entered the good old flat, full of pep and ginger, when a dark clad feller popped out of a trap, and, quite literally, hit me on the back hair with a small, black cudgel. I crumpled to the floor, as if there were no bones in me. Out cold to the entire world.  
  
It was some time later, that I awoke, still crumpled on the floor like a dishrag. I sat up, and peered about me. I heard Jeeves, tootling about in the sitting room, and wondered why the deuce he had not come to my aid.  
  
I mean to say, when the young master is biffed by an un-known person, with an un-known blunt object, you might expect the valet in those parts, to come leaping to the rescue. But no, it seemed that for the first time, Jeeves had not rallied round. He had left me there, at the mercy of fate and fortune.  
  
Rubbing my head, and feeling pretty un-nerved, I marched in.  
  
The room suddenly turned before my eyes, and swinging into my field of vision, came a thin, gaunt face, apparently belonging to a male person. He looked dis-pleased.  
  
"You, you, cad!"  
  
I gurgled, he had me by the throat, and I found it difficult to communicate.  
  
He seethed a bit.  
  
"You whelp! My daughter, you seriously imagine that I'd let a blood sucking, useless aristocrat like you, even look at my daughter!"  
  
He seemed to be verging on the personal, and I wasn't keen. He shook me about a bit, and in this brief interlude, I saw Jeeves in the corner of my eye. He was messing about with the cutlery in the next room, dash him. Here I was, being choked to death by a fellow who looked like a horse, and there Jeeves was, giving me the cold shoulder. Bally awkward, if you get my drift. 


	12. Mail Reader

Guess what? Usual disclaimer.  
  
Chapter Twelve  
  
The horse-man tightened his grip on my neck a little.  
  
"Well, what do you say, heh? About you going off with my daughter like this?"  
  
Well, I mean, I couldn't say much as his fist squashing my windpipe. I noticed Jeeves shimmer over to the door, lock it, and then carry on around the place as if he was merely dusting. Bally pirate! I give him his paycheck faithfully every week, and he goes and lets horse faced men accost me in my own sitting room.  
  
The horse chappie set me back on terra firma, and I struggled for breath.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Umm. Well you see. . ."  
  
"No! I don't see how a blood sucker like you could have wheedled his way into my daughter's affections! You tell me what happened!"  
  
"I don't know you or your daughter!"  
  
The man raised an eyebrow at me. He held up two envelopes. On one, was the address of Emily's house. He opened it, and pulled out my letter to Aunt Dahlia.  
  
"See? Some man sends my daughter a letter that, I suppose was intended for his Aunt, but I ask myself, how does he know her address?"  
  
Tucking the thing about his person, he held up the other letter. With a sudden feeling of impending doom, I gawped at it. My Aunt's address was clear beneath crossing lines. Then, there was my address, also crossed out. And then, neatly written, was Emily's address.  
  
"I then received this. Inside it is, a note from my brother, Reginald, and a passion filled love letter to my daughter, from a Mr Bertram Wooster."  
  
He glowered at me, if that's the word I want. I was shocked. Jeeves had read my mail. It was disgusting. My dutiful Aunt had sent the required letter back, and my interfering valet had jolly well gone and read it!  
  
"Umm. . ." 


	13. Secret Phone Calls

Back to annoy and distress once more. Usual disclaimer.  
  
Chapter Twelve  
  
I gulped. I swallowed. I took on board a few breaths of soothing air, only to have it knocked from my stomach by Emily's nearest and dearest's fist.  
  
"I bid you good day, sir. I hope never to set eyes on you again."  
  
He trotted off toward the door, but stopped, spinning on his axis, he yelled;  
  
"And I hope you never set eyes on my beloved little girl again!"  
  
The door banged, my heart thumped, and then I heard Jeeves' gentle breathing behind me. In all the bally confusion, I had quite forgotten that my manservant was Emily's uncle.  
  
From where I stood, he sounded like a bull elephant, about to charge down some unfortunate creature in the way.  
  
"Umm, Jeeves." I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere, don't you know.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
He looked at me like he would at something unpleasant on his shoe. I wanted to take the strong line with him, but I knew that when Jeeves decides, all is decided, so to speak.  
  
"Look Jeeves, I love Emily, and you'll have to work jolly hard to part our two souls."  
  
"Indeed, sir."  
  
Then he drifted out, with a callous look over his shoulder at me. I loped off to my chambers, rubbing my aching stomach.  
  
The next day, Jeeves had popped out somewhere, and I was alone and heart broken in the flat. Then, with all the dramatics of a good play, the phone rang.  
  
With trembling fingers I picked it up.  
  
"Hello? Wooster here."  
  
"Oh, Bertie! Oh, I heard what happened! You aren't hurt too much, darling?"  
  
"Oh no, I'm fine Angel."  
  
It was, of course, the most beautiful Emily. She cooed a good deal after that. There's nothing better for a chappie's moral than to hear the girl of his dreams cooing all over him. I felt braced and boosted.  
  
"Ring me back, light of my life, for your beastly uncle is rattling the door handle."  
  
"Alright. I hope I'll see you soon."  
  
Jeeves slid in as I replaced the receiver.  
  
"Who was that, sir?"  
  
"Oh, nobody."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
He streamed out, aiming for the kitchen. I was halfway to my armchair as the telephone sang out merrily. Quicker than a speeding bullet, Jeeves had whipped in, and lifted the thing to his ear. I could see a slight glint of triumph in his eye, expecting as he was, to catch the young, love-lorn master in the lurch.  
  
Instead, he looked foiled.  
  
"Mrs Travers, for you, sir."  
  
"Oh, jolly good. Hand her over."  
  
He did so, and scittered out.  
  
"Bertie?"  
  
"Yes, it's your nephew."  
  
"Excellent. Can you come down at once?"  
  
"Rather old relative."  
  
"Even better. Bring a friend. . . No, wait, bring your lady friend."  
  
I was rather upset. Aunt Dahlia referring to the sainted Emily like that. But still, I felt like I deserved a bit of Anatole's cooking.  
  
"Oh, alright then. But I could be a few days."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I have to convince Emily's father to let me near her. Either that or smuggle her out."  
  
There was a disturbed silence at the other end. Then came those fatal words. . .  
  
"Ask your man, Jeeves."  
  
I took a deep breath, and gave her the works. When I'd finished she seemed to sigh, and then suddenly a burst of excited sound issued down the line, nearly robbing me of my hearing in my left ear.  
  
"Well, I have an idea. Tell the poor girl you're annoying to accept an invitation for a theatrical doo-dah, from D.Travers."  
  
"Excellent! I shall telephone her as soon as Jeeves removes his watchful eye."  
  
"See you in a few days, nephew!"  
  
"Pip-pip, aged A."  
  
I set the 'phone down, and strode into the kitchen. "Jeeves, I'm taking a holiday. You can have two weeks off."  
  
Jeeves eyed me suspiciously.  
  
"Yes, Sir." 


	14. A Rift Within the Lute

Usual Disclaimer.  
  
Chapter Fourteen  
  
A few days later, I got my break. Jeeves was in the kitchen, so, like a sneaking thief I shot to the telephone. Within minutes I had told Emily, and was back in my chair, reading the paper.  
  
Jeeves streamed in, eyed me, and set the coffee down, and drifted out again.  
  
As you may have gathered, things were somewhat strained at the flat. But, in two hours time, I would be biffing down to Market Snodsbury, and re- uniting with the reason of my entire being.  
  
Jeeves had floated back in. He looked at me suspiciously. I had been staring with the love-light in my eyes into the middle distance.  
  
"I will be leaving soon, Jeeves. Is everything packed?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Then I shall set off immediately."  
  
"Very good, sir."  
  
So in a matter of minutes, I was in the car, and beetling off toward my beloved.  
  
I arrived late on in the evening. As I pulled up outside, the door opened, and an angel came flying at me down the steps.  
  
I hopped out of the old two-seater, just in time to be smothered by a young person of the female persuasion, with short, blonde hair.  
  
"Oh Bertie! I've missed you so terribly! Daddy didn't hurt you much did he? Oh, I'm so glad you're here!"  
  
Well, it's all very nice to have the girl of your dreams snuggling her head against your shoulder, but you can't have a conversation with her. However, trying to prise her off seemed cruel, and as I found, difficult. She wouldn't let go.  
  
So, we stood for a while on Aunt Dahlia's driveway, Emily with her arms apparently surgically attached to my neck, and me with my chin resting on top of her head, eyes on stalks looking for sign of any of her dashed relatives.  
  
Suddenly, I heard a door open, and a booming voice cut through the air.  
  
"Bertie! Stop squeezing the life out of poor Emily, and come in here!"  
  
Emily leapt from me, as if I was a plague victim. She looked like an angel who'd been caught dancing with Mephistopheles at the annual ball. Or possibly, Gussie Fink-Nottle, dressed in horns and a pair of red tights, it makes very little difference.  
  
Aunt Dahlia erupted into fits of helpless laughter on the doorstep. I was just about to silence her with a reproachful word, when Angela, my cousin, peered round the door and, after observing Emily, said in a cold voice;  
  
"You're quite right, Emily. Men are all the same, I mean, take . . ."  
  
At this point, she burst into tears, and ran back inside.  
  
And, so I arrived at Brinkley Court, Market Snodsbury.  
  
Several things occurred, then. Aunt Dahlia stopped laughing, and, after eyeing me with rather a lot of un-deserved menace, whipped inside. Emily turned to look me right in the eyeball, stepped forward, took my hand and whispered 'sorry' in my ear, before leading me inside too.  
  
Once in, we followed the noises of crying and comforting. These lead us to the morning room, where Angela was sobbing gently, while my dearest Aunt was cursing some poor unfortunate to high heaven. I just hoped it wasn't me.  
  
"What is it, Mrs Travers?"  
  
The sweet voice of the perfect-wife-for-B.Wooster sounded out.  
  
Aunt Dahlia raised her head in a Joan of Arc sort of way.  
  
"It's that fiend, Tuppy Glossop."  
  
At this, Angela began sobbing all over again. I saw all.  
  
You have to understand that my cousin Angela is affianced to this Glossop man. I, personally, took a dim view of him when he forced me into a swimming pool in full eveningwear, but that is another story.  
  
This Glossop has upset dear Angela more than once, and now a further rift within the lute, didn't look to good.  
  
"What's happened, Aged A?"  
  
This time, Angela glared at the floor, and said, between gritted teeth;  
  
"The other day, I'd bought a new dress, and when Tuppy saw me in it, he said that he thought it didn't suit me at all, and that I ought to slim down a bit to fit into it! And then, I asked him whom he knew who was thinner than me, and do you know what he said Bertie? He told me that there was at least one nice girl he knew who was far slimmer than me!!!"  
  
I reeled. This was terrible. What had possessed the man? Angela may not be the paramount of feminine slimness, but was undoubtedly a very attractive sort of girl. I could not possibly compare her to the immortal beauty of Emily, but there was no question of Angela not being pretty. She was a bit freckly, true, but when Tuppy had declared his love for my cousin I hadn't thought that two or three freckles would do any harm.  
  
And here the man was, proclaiming the poor girl a bit on the large side, an opinion that no other person of Angela's acquaintance had held, and, which was a tad worse, letting on to his preference for some other young female. All very disturbing.  
  
Well, what can one do after that? We just tooled off to our rooms to dress for dinner. And dinner, when it happened, was pretty sombre. Tuppy had been banished to an hotel, and even Anatole's cooking couldn't cheer Angela up. 


	15. Caught by the Constabulary

Usual disclaimer  
  
Chapter Fifteen  
  
The next morning, I was up quite early, about nine-ish, I think. Hopping down to the breakfast table I found Aunt Dahlia, Angela, and Uncle Tom. Aunt Dahlia was munching toast in such a moody fashion that it was like she'd been trained. Old Uncle Tom was reading the paper, and Angela was waving a sausage to and fro on a fork in an absent manner.  
  
There was no trace of the resident personification of sweetness and light, so I tucked in. When, after I had finished, Emily still hadn't put in an appearance, I felt worried.  
  
"Aunty dearest, do you know where the heavenly vision is?"  
  
"If you mean the unfortunate girl Emily, she's gone off to the town."  
  
"Why unfortunate? What's happened?"  
  
"Oh nothing. She's only unfortunate because she's got you hanging around like a persistent puppy."  
  
I strode off, feeling put out. Passing by my room to gather hat and jacket, I headed for the open spaces.  
  
I reached the town of Market Snodsbury in good time. It's really only a village masquerading as a town until somebody builds a church big enough to fit the entire 'Snodsbury population without crushing them.  
  
I soon found my hearts desire, loitering by the pond. Or rather, she hovered. Angels have a distinct inability to loiter.  
  
"Oh, hullo Bertie."  
  
This lukewarm greeting lacked sparkle. I wrapped the old arms about her and was about kiss her lightly on the cheek before asking what her troubles were, when she turned her head away.  
  
"What is it, light of my life?"  
  
Emily sighed worriedly, and looked about with a hunted look in her eye.  
  
"It's nothing Bertie, really."  
  
I was instantly suspicious. Her manner was of a girl who was trying to make light of a tricky situation.  
  
We wandered back to the house, Emily deep in thought and self-wondering what on earth she was deep in thought about. As we ambled in through the gates, a strange scene was unfolding before us. Several members of the constabulary were milling about on the front lawn. One voice rose above the rest. It belonged to the copper at the open door, with Aunt Dahlia.  
  
"Good Morning, Madam."  
  
"Good Morning Officer."  
  
"I have reason to believe that a young lady by the name of Miss Cooper is here. Is that correct?"  
  
By this time, Emily and I were in hiding inside a large bush of sorts, with sticks and leaves all over the place. By an amazing stroke of luck, Aunt Dahlia saw Emily waving her hand inside the bush. With a frantic gesture, Emily began shaking her head, causing all kinds of debris to cascade down my neck.  
  
Aunt Dahlia is a sharp woman. She got the message in a flash, and before one could say, "Emily and I were in a bush," she had told the copper to buzz off and leave us alone, as Emily Cooper was not about.  
  
As the men in blue stomped off, I untangled myself from the bush, and was just tugging out Emily, when a resounding shout rang out;  
  
"Unhand my daughter, Wooster!"  
  
Needless to say, my blood froze in it's tracks. 


	16. A Bit of a Blow?

Ok, hi. I'm currently campaigning for a J&W category. If there is one already, someone please tell me. I sometimes miss things like that. (  
  
Normal disclaimer.  
  
Chapter Sixteen  
  
Emily's father had been hanging about with the police, to come in search of his daughter. I knew he was a suspicious sort of bird, but I couldn't believe that even he'd discover us here.  
  
And then, all was made clear. The man I had trusted for many years, the man who used to look at me with a sort of paternal glint in his eye, the man I religiously paid every week, had done the dirty on his niece and me. For there he stood, looking terribly austere and intimidating. I kid you not when I say there was no mercy in those eyes.  
  
The blighted father gripped darling Emily by the wrist. He pulled her out from the bush, and glowered at me.  
  
"Mr Wooster, it is only the love for my daughter that prevents me from calling back the police. I come here, and not only find you with my daughter, I find you in a bush with her!"  
  
I could see the chappie had completely the wrong angle on things. I decided, however, to forgo that explanation, and try and convince this man that my love for Emily was such that parting us would do no earthly good.  
  
But before I could open my mouth, Emily un-hooked herself, and latched onto me again. I held her tightly whilst giving her father and Jeeves a defiant look.  
  
"I am sorry, Mr Cooper, but true love is devilish tricky to overcome."  
  
I would have gone on with my speech, but at that moment a solid object was placed rather firmly on the back of my head. I felt Emily let go and scream, before everything went black for the second time in an incredibly short period.  
  
I woke up in a bed, with a banging headache. I had hoped to see Emily leaning tenderly over me, but as I came to, I remembered that that couldn't really be possible. I don't mind saying that I felt distinctly heartbroken. It wouldn't be too much to say that my heart wrenched every time I thought of my one true love.  
  
Slowly, the door opened, and Aunt Dahlia appeared. She wore a motherly expression.  
  
"Oh good Lord, not you as well."  
  
"What?"  
  
"All this heartbreak is getting me down. What with you and Angela."  
  
"Aunt Dahlia! I have just had the love of my life taken from under my very nose. And to cap it all, some very evilly minded person hit me over the head with something."  
  
"Ah, yes. That was Emily's new fiancé. He doesn't like you."  
  
I abruptly stopped breathing. My heart ceased to function. I am pretty sure my eyes bulged out, too.  
  
"W-what? She's engaged?"  
  
"Yes, you poor fish. She is now."  
  
"But, I asked her to marry me!"  
  
"I'm sure you did, but this other bloke apparently wrote to the girl's father, and he said yes, so dear Emily is off somewhere else. Bit of a blow for you."  
  
I goggled at her.  
  
"A bit of a blow? Aunt Dahlia, I love that girl! I would go and live on some remote island for the rest of my life for her! I'd,-I'd. . .! Oh well I'd do a lot of other courageous things for her. It is not a bit of a blow; it's an occurrence that's going to determine the rest of my life! And I'll tell you right now, that I won't be happy unless I spend the rest of my natural l. with Emily cooper!"  
  
Aunt Dahlia stood up. She looked at me with what I still believe was 'new respect'. Then she pointed to the wardrobe.  
  
"Get dressed, Bertram Wooster, and go and bring Emily Cooper back!"  
  
With that, she marched out of the room, with a look of the old determination on her face.  
  
I leapt out of bed, dressed in record time, and was down in the entrance hall before any normal person could've crawled out of bed after being beaten over the head. Aunt Dahlia was standing there, hat and coat in one hand, keys to my car in the other. It was like some bally romance novel.  
  
"You know Aged A., that this would be a whole lot easier if Jeeves were on our side. We need someone of his intellect."  
  
Aunt Dahlia gave me a knowing look.  
  
"Look behind you, my pudding-brained nephew."  
  
I did. I honestly confess that I could've strangled the man who stood there. One of the men I disliked most in the world at that point was hovering behind me.  
  
"Oh. So you've come here to rub whatever people rub into the wound have you?"  
  
"Salt, sir?"  
  
"Yes. Well have you? After reading my personal post, and then dropping hints to Mr Cooper behind my back, my level of esteem for you has rather plummeted."  
  
Something happened then that shocked me. Jeeves showed actual emotion. Both eyebrows moved, his lips twitched and his facial expression became decidedly apologetic. I heard Aunt Dahlia drop the keys onto the floor with a clatter. It takes rather a lot to shock my Aunt A. But seeing Jeeves looking sorry for himself had done the trick.  
  
I must admit that I felt pretty amazed at the bally thing. This was Jeeves, the greatest work a taxidermist ever completed. The man who had seen and heard a great many astonishing things without even blinking.  
  
"Jeeves?"  
  
"I am prepared to say, sir, that I feel decidedly awkward regarding the matter of you, my niece and Mr Binsley."  
  
"Really?" I wasn't about to let my guard down yet. This man had managed, in a very short space of time, to ruin my matrimonial plans, and the joint happiness of Emily and myself. Still, what can one expect of a man like Jeeves? It just proves that that great power put to bad uses is dangerous to all and sundry.  
  
"Hang on a minute, Jeeves. Who is this Binsley?"  
  
"Mr Edward Binsley is the man who took it upon himself to hit you on the head with a cudgel, sir."  
  
"Ah. A man of volcanic tempers, then?"  
  
"Indeed, sir."  
  
It was then that I heard a snorting sound from behind me. Aunt Dahlia was laughing.  
  
"Gosh, Bertie! For someone who claims to strongly dislike Jeeves, you seem to be getting on rather well!"  
  
I couldn't believe it. The man had ingratiated himself again. Two minutes and he was already digging himself in.  
  
"Well, why are you still here anyway?"  
  
"You must forgive me, sir, but at first I didn't think you were suited for my niece."  
  
"Oh? Did you not?"  
  
It was scathing reply, I know. But it had to be done.  
  
"Yes, sir. But, after Mr Cooper had introduced me to Mr Binsley, I realised that that particular gentleman was not at all what I had hoped. He hitting you over the head was an act that I believe a good husband for Miss Cooper should not do. However, it would appear that my brother has no such concerns."  
  
I looked hard at the man. He looked truly sorry. I looked at Aunt Dahlia. She looked at me. We needed a man like Jeeves. I was loathe to rope him in, but if I was to be waltzing up the aisle with Miss Cooper anytime soon, he was rather a necessity.  
  
"Alright, Jeeves. I accept your apology."  
  
"Thank you very much, sir." 


	17. Clowning About

Guess what? Usual Disclaimer.  
  
Chapter Seventeen  
  
Jeeves hopped into the front seat of Aunt Dahlia's car. I leapt into the passenger seat and Aunt Dahlia sat in the back.  
  
"So, Jeeves, where has this fiend Binsley taken Bertie's Emily?"  
  
"I believe he intended to take Emily back to her house. He is staying at a nearby hotel."  
  
"Right then, Jeeves, to the metrop. with all possible speed!" I cried.  
  
We arrived late on. After leaving the car goodness where, we wandered over to Emily's house.  
  
I am not a particularly romantic man. Chocolates, flowers and all that rot are fine by me, but beyond that I didn't think I'd go. And here I was, about to rescue Emily Cooper from the clutches of this Binsley bimbo.  
  
Jeeves walked up to the house, and knocked on the door. It creaked open to reveal Mr Cooper. Aunt Dahlia and myself were concealed behind a local tree, so we could see all.  
  
Mr Cooper accepted Jeeves in, but in Jeeves would not go. He turned round and called us out of our hidey-hole. We came out. Mr Cooper proceeded to leap a foot in the air. Then he yelled:  
  
"Wooster!"  
  
He did a lot of that, I had noticed. I had to say I didn't think much of Jeeve's plan. It wasn't in his usual style. No finesse.  
  
Jeeves pressed on.  
  
"Mr Wooster wishes to speak with Miss Cooper one more time, Charles."  
  
The newly named 'Charles Cooper' sneered in a general way, and permitted me into the house. Aunt Dahlia tried to follow, but was barred at the door by the wiry frame of Pop Cooper.  
  
I loped into the inner sanctum. All was quiet and still, as they say in the movies.  
  
"My daughter is in there."  
  
I banged my head on the ceiling as the clipped tones of the ghastly father sprang out behind me. I opened the door, cautiously.  
  
There was a startled gasp, and a blokey, built like an ape, but twice as tall launched him-self at me. There was another door opposite the one the bloke had just popped out of. Through we went, toppling down some stairs and into a large basket of white linen sheets.  
  
By some miracle, I was out first. I hopped for the exit like a hyperactive rabbit, stumbling through into the room where Emily was concealed. However, I was caught in mid-stumble by a solid object.  
  
Both said object and me shot through the other door like bally clowns and hit some sort of sofa. I rolled off it with a thump.  
  
Untangling myself from the debris I had brought with me, like a sheet, and two cushions, I was able to sit up. The solid object turned out to be Emily. She was struggling out from the clutches of a pillowcase, a sofa throw, and the largest pillow in London.  
  
When she had quite finished, she said;  
  
"Oh, Bertie! My lamb!"  
  
"Hello, Angel!"  
  
I stood up, only to be knocked back by Emily propelling herself off the sofa at me. We stood for goodness knows how long, clasped together, whispering, what I believe are known as sweet nothings in each others ears. This sort of thing inevitably happens when two hearts that beat as one are parted for any length of time.  
  
It was rather unfortunate that as we were entangled in Emily's sitting room, her blasted Father wandered in. He gave a sort of strangled yowling noise. Emily shot skywards, and I collapsed into the fireguard as I tripped over the footrest backwards.  
  
I wasn't there for very long, however, before Mr Cooper had hauled me up by my collar. I gurgled a good deal, finding it a tad tricky to breathe in the circumstances.  
  
"You, you . . ."  
  
He was saved from finishing his sentence by his wonderful daughter batting him one on the head with a chair. His grip loosened, I started to breathe again, and Emily watched as he crumpled up on the floor.  
  
The big eyes looked at me. Tears began to show and suddenly I was once again entangled with E.Cooper.  
  
"Oh, Bertie, what have I done?"  
  
"Well old sport, you appear to have beaten your father over the head with a chair."  
  
She hit me gently on the shoulder, but continued crying.  
  
"But, you did save me from an early death of suffocation."  
  
She brightened up at this. But only enough to hit me on the other shoulder and then hurry me out of the house before her pater woke up, and decided it must have been my fault that he was reclining on the floor.  
  
We waved a fond farewell at the door, where I tried to convince her to come back to Aunt Dahlia's. The faithful Emily would have none of it. She seemed also preoccupied, but I put that down to worry.  
  
"I really can't Bertie! I must be here when father wakes up and tell him that the chair was my fault, otherwise the chances of us getting married are slimmer than paper."  
  
I left the house just in time, as it happened. I could distinctly hear the sounds of Edward Binsley finally escaping the laundry.  
  
Jeeves and Aunt Dahlia had taken residence in the car. I hopped in, much to Aunt Dahlia's insistence that I should not leave without the angel E.Cooper. I pointed out that she would not come. The aged A. was silent.  
  
It must have been past midnight when we arrived back at Aunt Dahlia's. Angela was running about all over the shop, going 'mad with worry' and other things. Aunt Dahlia began explaining things to the poor girl while Jeeves and I retired to bed. I watched Jeeves glide off down the passage; he was thinking.  
  
I was by far too tired to sleep, let alone think.  
  
I was up later than usual next day. I was eating toast in the garden when Angela popped over, a face like thunder, and hands clenched by her sides.  
  
We sat on an ornamental bench for some time, self-munching contentedly, and thinking of my heavenly fiancé down in London, and Angela apparently thinking of something unpleasant.  
  
"Bertie, do you agree that all men are rats?"  
  
"No dearest cousin, I can't say I do."  
  
She brooded for a space.  
  
"Well Tuppy is."  
  
"I concede that Tuppy can be somewhat trying at times."  
  
"He pushed you into a pool or something, didn't he?"  
  
"Not so much pushed as lured."  
  
"We're chumps, the both of us."  
  
"I agree Angela, but not totally. Whereas I am completely aware that I am a certified chump, I would not have applied the title to your good self."  
  
"Well I would. Tuppy Glossop has taken us both in. I have had enough of him."  
  
Just then, the man himself appeared round the corner. It was a shock. He was supposed to be in exile.  
  
"Oh, hullo, Bertie."  
  
He looked morose. Angela looked mortified. I don't know how I looked, but I felt as if I was in the middle of a war zone.  
  
"Leave, Mr Glossop. You are not welcome here."  
  
Angela had got up. She eyed Tuppy down her nose and lifted my arm from my side, and tugged. I stood up.  
  
"Bertram and I are going for a stroll. Good day to you."  
  
"You're not going round with 'him' are you?"  
  
I took offence at this. Tuppy was still a sort of friend. One doesn't like to hear that tone of voice in one's pals.  
  
What got me most was Angela's reply.  
  
"Well, actually, I am."  
  
Tuppy looked shocked. And let me tell you, I felt shocked. This revelation was news to me. I stared at Angela. She ignored me, and bulldozed straight on, in that un-stoppable way girls do.  
  
"Me and Bertie are going now Tuppy, so as I said before, Good bye."  
  
Tuppy had a stab at retaliation.  
  
"Well, then, I'll go and call up my new fiancé."  
  
"You haven't got a new fiancé." Angela, quite rightly pointed out.  
  
"Quite old man. You can't go making up fiancés. They don't like it."  
  
Tuppy drew himself up at this, which didn't require much drawing.  
  
"I soon will have. Her name's Emily Cooper and I love her." 


	18. True Lies

Usual Disclaimer.  
  
Chapter Eighteen  
  
Tuppy beamed. Angela grabbed my arm, trying to restrain me. I tried to strangle Tuppy Glossop. The man took instant objection to this, and got back at me by saying;  
  
"Bertie, have you gone mad?"  
  
Well, what could I say? Probably quite a lot of things, but no ideas came at that moment, or at least not any that were suitable for mixed company. I shook Angela off, and re-doubled my efforts at squeezing the life out of my rival in love.  
  
Eventually, my better self prevailed. I stooped trying to strangle him, and explained.  
  
"Tuppy, I forbid you to ask her!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because she is engaged to me."  
  
There was a stony silence.  
  
"Womaniser."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Angela, how can you love this man? He is engaged to both you and Miss Cooper."  
  
Angela got all stuffy at this point until I forced her, with meaningful looks, to tell the truth about her and me. Tuppy took it hard. He swallowed a bit.  
  
"So, you would lie to me?"  
  
"Yes. You told me I was fat. You told me you were in love with someone else."  
  
"Maybe. But I wasn't lying."  
  
I shut my eyes. I wanted to run away very fast. I could hear Angela's breathing getting louder until she was snorting. I could almost imagine the flames rearing forth from her nose and mouth.  
  
"So, you think I'm fat do you?"  
  
There was an awkward silence. Tuppy was mulling over his answer. Eventually, he said;  
  
"Maybe not. But you're a good deal wider than Emily. So I 'shall' ask her to marry me."  
  
My eyes sprung open. But too late, Tuppy saw me, and sprinted for safety. I decided too let him live. After all, Emily would remain true to me, so there was no cause for alarm.  
  
Angela was another thing altogether. She eyed me, with distaste. She drew breath, and marched off to report back to Mother, no doubt.  
  
I too, meandered back into the house. There I met Jeeves.  
  
"Ah, Jeeves. I wanted to tell you something."  
  
"Indeed, sir?"  
  
"Yes. Tuppy has just declared his intention to marry your beautiful niece."  
  
I have known Jeeves a long time. There has been many an occasion when he ought to have been flabbergasted. But he never seemed to react. This time though, I really believed that he would fall backwards, his eye rolling whilst saying; "Good Lord".  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
I reeled. The man was made of stone, surely.  
  
Then it hit me what he had actually said.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"I said that I already knew, sir."  
  
"How?"  
  
He coughed politely.  
  
"Miss Emily confided in me, sir, that Mr Glossop might express some such intention."  
  
"Well, she could've told me."  
  
"I believe she didn't wish to upset yours and Mr Glossop's friendship, sir, by driving a wedge between you that may not actually exist. Miss Cooper was not sure of Mr Glossop's intentions, so she kept it a secret to avoid unpleasantness."  
  
"Well, it was all very good of her. But there is definitely a wedge between Tuppy and self now. And I can assure you that it is very unpleasant."  
  
"Quite, sir."  
  
I thought for a space. Jeeves just stood there, looking piously at the ceiling.  
  
"He can't work it, Jeeves, surely because Emily is engaged to me."  
  
Jeeves coughed.  
  
"No, sir. She is not."  
  
I stared at the man. Then the thing hit me. In all the excitement, I had quite forgotten that Edward Binsley had butted me out the way.  
  
"Well, fair enough. But the point is she is already promised elsewhere. Therefore Tuppy won't get a look in."  
  
Jeeves coughed again. He had obviously spent hours, re-fining and tuning that cough. It had panache that cough. It was the sort of cough that comes just before a really amazing bit of news in a play.  
  
"Yes, Jeeves?"  
  
"I, well, sir. It is just that, oh. Sorry to trouble you, sir. It was nothing."  
  
I raised an eyebrow. This wasn't the amazing bit of news I'd hoped for. It was very unlike the man, in fact.  
  
"If that is how you feel, Jeeves."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
As I began to patter off, I looked over my shoulder. Jeeves was giving me one of his paternal looks. All sort of fatherly, and worried. I almost stopped. But, at this moment his gaze returned to the ceiling, so off I toddled. 


	19. Bertie Seethes a Bit, and Ponders the In...

Regular Disclaimer. Also, I didn't know what Tuppy's real first name was. So I kept his initial as 'T'. Please tell me what it is if you know.  
  
Chapter Nineteen  
  
It was on the morrow, when I had stepped down to the station, that I at last got contact with the outside world. I sniffed the air, and inhaled a sudden passing train. After choking for a bit, I managed to struggle over to the newspaper stand. I collected several different sheets, and on instruction from Aunt Dahlia, a copy of 'Miladys Boudoir'. Let me tell you that the shop attendant gave me a bally funny look at that one.  
  
As I travelled back up to the house, I idly flicked through the things. I was just looking at one of them, forget which, when the page dropped open at the engagements and marriages column.  
  
I gargled. I gurgled. I'm damn near convinced my eyes stuck out. My bottom jaw plummeted and must have got tangled up with my feet, as I was suddenly spread-eagled on the dusty road. I raised the offending item to my disbelieving eyes for one more peep.  
  
"A marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place between Mr T.Glossop and Miss E.Cooper."  
  
I had sat up to read this, but now, with a deflated sigh, I flopped back down again, the blasted paper hanging uselessly from my limp hand. I felt like one of those chaps who are portrayed mooching around London, their ties hanging loosely, hands in pockets, with hair un-combed. I never believed there were people who felt that low until now.  
  
Well, after a good deal of soul-searching, and staring blandly at the sky, pondering the infinite, I got up, brushed myself down, picked up the papers, and did a fair bit of mooching till I reached the abode of my good and deserving aunt.  
  
When the front door opened, revealing the butler, he leapt like a startled fawn. He goggled at me for a time, and then grudgingly allowed me inside. I was somewhat perturbed at his manner, till catching a glimpse of myself in a mirror; I saw why he had goggled quite so much.  
  
My hair was all over the shop, or more accurately, all over my head, sticking out at right angles in some places. My clothes were dusty, my tie was a lost cause, swaying to and fro in a sad sort of way, and one hand was in a pocket, and the other clutching what appeared to be the largest collection of scrunched newspaper ever. This, I supposed, is what you get from moping about on dusty roads.  
  
Anyway, I staggered up to my room, and gave Jeeves the perfect opportunity for the world record in the standing high jump. What's more, he took the p.o. with both hands, and probably beat the current score by a good two foot.  
  
I had honestly never seen the man so rattled. It amazed me that he could bear the shock of his nieces various engagements without so much as the twitch of an eyebrow, and yet, the sight of the young master after he has been moping and mooching alternately, set him right off.  
  
His eyes went to dinner plate proportions. The mouth formed a sort of strangled cry, and the rest of his body gave an involuntary shudder, as though he had been poked by a cattle prod.  
  
His whole aspect was that of a man who has just been bitten on various limbs by all his close relatives and friends.  
  
"Oh, hullo Jeeves."  
  
This finished him off. He gasped for air and vanished into a secret compartment somewhere.  
  
I sat down on the bed, buried my face in my hands, and began a low moan.  
  
Jeeves re-appeared, still not quite himself, but much recovered.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
I thrust the offending paper at him. He gave me a curious look, and then read it. His face flickered a bit, and finally settled on remorse. He set the paper down on a convenient table, before looking at me with the fatherly eye, again.  
  
"I'm extremely sorry, sir."  
  
I looked up at the man. He had never looked quite so sympathetic in the entire time I had known him.  
  
"Well, it can't be helped, I suppose."  
  
Here, Jeeves went a rather funny colour, and seemed to narrowly avoid the urge to rush out again. He looked me straight in the eyeball, and said;  
  
"Sir. I'm afraid to say it could have been helped. I am completely to blame for this most disturbing incident."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Indeed, sir. I ought to have told you what I knew from the first. I have known from almost the beginning what Mr Cooper's intentions were, after hearing from Mr Glossop."  
  
This was, in my eyes, courage. For any man to come here, stand before my grieving heart and say that lot, well, it was taking one's life in one's hands, to be honest. It was a wrench to prevent myself leaping at the man, and beating him senseless.  
  
"Jeeves!"  
  
"Yes, sir. Mr Cooper received a communication from Mr Glossop, proposing his engagement to Miss Cooper. Mr Cooper accepted."  
  
I seethed a trifle. But then I recollection hit me.  
  
"But Jeeves, why should he allow the aisle traipsing between the wonderful Emily, and the toad Glossop, but not between Emily and myself? I thought he objected to me on grounds of being a 'blood sucking aristocrat', and I have to say Mr Glossop isn't much of an improvement."  
  
Here Jeeves looked even more remorseful. He was apparently trying very hard at the remorse. I was with him completely in this; if he didn't keep it up there was a good chance I would break his neck in a fit of grievous rage. I am not by nature, a man of sudden tempers, but this sort of soul shattering occurrence was more than enough to make me feel wronged. The feudal spirit, which had always linked Jeeves and I, had obviously been off duty for the entire time all the above business was going on.  
  
"I must be honest, sir, and say that that was not the reason Mr Cooper objected to you. I showed him the papers which I had written about you for my club, after I had learned of yours and Miss Emily's intentions."  
  
There followed the thickest, most unpleasant silence imaginable. Both mind and heart were in turmoil. This was too much. It really was. I gripped the edge of the bed like a vice; it was all I could do to stop myself occupying the front page of the next paper, as a murder sensation.  
  
"MAN MURDERS OWN VALET IN MARKET SNODSBURY"  
  
"Jeeves, I would very much like you to leave, now."  
  
"Quite, sir."  
  
"And don't ever, ever let yourself come anywhere near me again. I have had my fill of deceit, lies and backstabbing for one lifetime."  
  
He began to shimmer out, but he stopped mid-shimmer, and gave me the paternal look once more.  
  
"I truly am very sorry, sir, to have ruined yours and Miss Emily's happiness. It was not my place to do so. I apologise."  
  
With that, he resumed his shimmer. I got up, and wobbling over to my bed- side drawer, withdrew a photo of a girl who was very likely getting sick and tired of being engaged to various fellows, with no say in the matter. I heard the door behind me open and close, as Jeeves left the room. That was that then, I felt.  
  
I sat for some time, looking longingly at the photograph. I was disturbed in my mourning by the entrance of the houses owner. There was a 'flump' noise, as Aunt Dahlia alighted next to me.  
  
"Bertie, I believe you've finally cracked. Jeeves has just left for the open spaces. He said something about you giving him the sack!"  
  
I raised the heavy head. The aunt drew a startled breath. My appearance in general hadn't shocked her, she having spent many an hour on the hunting fields with fellows looking a lot worse, but my face gave her something to gasp about.  
  
"Good Lord, Bertram. Has there been a death in the family?"  
  
I hit on something rather poetic then.  
  
"Yes, dearest Aunt. I have died in heart and soul."  
  
Aunt Dahlia looked at me squarely.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Read this foul thing." I said, passing her the n.paper.  
  
"Good gracious! Somebody ought to lock that Glossop up."  
  
"I could do better than that, aged A. I would stretch him over the roof, and allow Angela, your good self, and me to dance over him wearing ice skates."  
  
"You are angry, Bertie."  
  
"Yes, I am. After we'd finished Glossop off, it would be down again to tie Jeeves to the local railway, and see what happened."  
  
This nearly did the old relative in. She stared at me, aghast.  
  
"Did you really say that, Bertie?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Things are bad. Why though? What has he done?"  
  
I relayed the facts. Aunt Dahlia went purple. 


	20. A Knight in Shining Armour

Usual Disclaimer.  
  
Thanks to Ethelflaed, for Hildebrand. That has eased my mind.  
  
Chapter Twenty  
  
The aged relative stood up, gave my shoulder a squeeze, and walked silently out.  
  
I don't know how long I sat there. The sun was going down when I had made up my mind what to do. I stood up, and began making myself respectable again.  
  
Eventually, I looked ready to go out into the wide world again. Which was good, because that was exactly what I intended to do. It may be said of Bertram Wooster, that he is a chump. But it will never be said that when he is down, he is out. I was going to jolly well rise on the stepping-stones of my dead self to higher things.  
  
I walked slowly down the stairs, and over to a small note pad on an occasional table by the door. It was obviously used for taking telephone calls and such. I scribbled a hasty note to my good Aunt, and legged it.  
  
I was halfway to London by the time the full realisation of what I was doing got to me. I was going to London, to remove the girl of my heart from the clutches of her rabid father, some large chappie called Edward, and the fiend in sheep's clothing Glossop.  
  
It was about sevenish when I got to my flat. I dropped the car off at the garage, and jumped in the lift. The flat was, as always, immaculate. I looked around sadly. There was change in the air. Even a chump like myself could sense it.  
  
I poured myself a quick whiskey and soda, before returning to the garage, and driving round to Emily's. It was dark as I knocked on the door.  
  
I was expecting Mr Cooper. Instead, the man Binsley appeared. He reached forward in a deliberate manner, and took me by my shirt collar. Lifting me inside, he slammed me against a convenient wall, before stating;  
  
"You're here to see Emily, aren't you?"  
  
I couldn't do much. But what I could do, I did quickly. I biffed the bloke hard in the region of his stomach. It didn't agree with him. He dropped me, and curled up in a ball on the floor.  
  
It didn't agree with my fist either. The man was made of steel, surely. I crept further along the corridor, feeling like one of those secret agents you read about.  
  
The next obstacle was Mr Cooper himself. He was walking from the washroom to the sitting room, a journey I had previously made backwards.  
  
He only noticed me as he entered the s.room. He turned a tad sharp and caught his nose on the doorframe. He waved his arms frantically at me, and got a hold on my sleeve. I rushed for the sitting room, and there was a nasty tearing sound. The cost, they say, for true love can be quite a big amount. I felt I had got off lightly with the loss of a coat sleeve.  
  
I shot in, and banged the door home. There was a handy sofa or something nearby, which I pulled across like a barrier. It struck me then that Emily might not be in this particular room. Rather sticky, if this was so.  
  
I spun on my axis, and there the girl was. Looking angelic, as always, framed by the tall glass doors behind, with the light streaming in.  
  
However, my eyes were caught by the look on her face. She was looking at me like a cat looks at a faraway fish; longing, is the word I want.  
  
"Emily, I . . ."  
  
Then I saw the blighter. Hildebrand Glossop in person. He was kneeling down in front of the heavenly vision. Proposing. Dash him, he was actually proposing. He sends round the letter to father, and when he gets the nod, there he is rubbing it in on the poor girl. Pretty thick.  
  
"Wooster! What in the blazes are you doing here?"  
  
"Glossop, I've come to claim what is rightfully mine."  
  
"Oh? Do I owe you a fiver or something?"  
  
I drew myself up at that. He couldn't possibly be so blind to my feelings. Or Emily's for that matter. She looked positively forlorn.  
  
"No, Glossop. I've come to take Emily's hand in marriage."  
  
Glossop got up. He marched over to me, and glowered at me.  
  
"Look, Wooster, I've settled it with Emily's father that we'll get married. He doesn't want you to marry Emily, and neither does she . . ."  
  
"Actually, Mr Glossop, you've never asked me. No one has ever asked me about wanting to marry you."  
  
"Oh. Well, you do of course."  
  
Emily got all huffy at that straight from the stable. Emily, although on first meeting may seem like the 'Madeline Basset' sort, is actually one of those modern girls you read about. All cold eyed, and made of chilled steel. It amazed me I had fallen for her like this, but then I suppose love works in mysterious ways.  
  
She grabbed Glossop by the ear, and tugged. The effect was immediate. He made a sound like a dog being trodden on. Emily added twist to the assault on the man's ear, and he was as good as finished with. Emily let go, and began to execute the joyful bound into her lovers arms, when she was prevented from doing so by the entrance of another bimbo through the French doors.  
  
I had had my arms out, ready to scoop the joyfully bounding female up, preparatory to making a speedy getaway. It never looks good when the girl b.joyfully, and the male half of the sketch drops her.  
  
I quickly dropped the arms, however, when I got a good view of our visitor. It was Jeeves.  
  
"Oh, good evening Mr Wooster. Miss Cooper."  
  
"Hello uncle. Bertie was just saying hello."  
  
There came a gurgle from the region of the carpet. Glossop was trying to get up. Emily kicked him. Jeeves took strong views on this in an instant. He looked dis-pleased.  
  
"If you may allow me to say so, Miss Emily, I would not advocate the provoking of Mr Glossop. He was wishing to marry you, and may not feel so inclined if you kick him."  
  
Emily seemed brightened by this news. She kicked the fiend again.  
  
"Good show, light of my life. Give him one from Bertram while you're about it, and then we'll be off."  
  
Emily duly complied, and started off toward the French windows. I followed suit, casting an aloof glance at Jeeves as I did.  
  
Once outside, we scooted for the two-seater. Emily and self hopped in, and were off pretty quickish. We drove along in silence for quite a while, until Emily dropped a bomb on the proceedings;  
  
"Bertie, you realise what we're doing is pretty frightful."  
  
"No, I don't dearest one, how are you thinking?"  
  
"Well, technically it's eloping, isn't it?"  
  
Here my emotion was such that we nearly never lived to see another church, let alone get married in one. My hands jerked the steering wheel so hard that the car almost nose dived into a local hedge.  
  
There was a frosty silence, until I couldn't stand it any longer;  
  
"Emily, I don't care what it's called, we're getting married. And if Binsley, Jeeves, Glossop and your father don't like it, well tough for them."  
  
Emily attempted to hug me at this point, but thought it beneficial to both her and me that we not finish up in a car crash in a field.  
  
We got to Aunt Dahlia's place pretty late. Yawning and stretching, we staggered to the front door. The Butler opened it again, and appeared to have the beginnings of a heart attack on the doorstep. Luckily, he recognised me, and let us in.  
  
Aunt Dahlia was up and wandering round the house with Angela. Uncle Tom had gone to bed, but the women of the house were worrying. Quite touching. Upon seeing me and Emily amble up the stairs, Aunt Dahlia and the good cousin did their very best lemon-squeezer impressions on us. After much protesting for the right to breathe, we were allowed out of the clinch.  
  
"Oh, Bertie! I'm glad you back. I know you're a chump nephew, but really . . ."  
  
Angela seemed all gooey-eyed and sweetness. She kept looking at me as if I was some sort of knight in shining armour. And she kept saying things like; "How romantic!" and "Oh, wonderful!" as I related the tale. Most disconcerting.  
  
Emily just stood there looking like a damsel, blushing regularly and beaming. Angela's over awed enthusiasm for the entire thing didn't bother her. Aunt Dahlia was viewing me with a new glint in her eye. After the retelling had ended, she said sweetly;  
  
"Well, it was all very brave of you, darling nephew. I just hope your other nice Aunty Agatha sees it that way." 


End file.
